We have taken on a new team member.
On his first day, he was the talk of the water cooler. All department members – including the straight men – took turns sashaying past his desk to get a better look at the new kid, to try to catch his eye.
Not only is he super bright but, like the hunk in the Diet Coke ad forced to strip off much to the delight of a watching group of ladies, he’s utterly gorgeous.
Like a young Steve McQueen or Paul Newman, he’s a modern-day Adonis with that rare and winning combination: Brains and brawn. What’s not to like?
Well, unbelievably, there is one major flaw – he smells. One would think that with a body to rival Michelangelo’s David his body odour would be sweet smelling, like nectar for the nostrils, but come 10.30am after a Tube journey in and an hour at his desk he’s like Pepé Le Pew, emitting a malodorous scent that is enough to make one want to spew.
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From a distance, he’s delicious eye candy but once he comes within a few feet he’s stomach churning.
The strange thing is he doesn’t seem to be aware of it. There isn’t a whiff (excuse the pun) of self-doubt. Like Tom Hiddleston, he’s body confident, wearing only the type of fitted shirts that a supreme hunk can pull off: torso defining and teasingly tantalising.
Maybe, over the years, he’s become immune to the foul stench or perhaps he’s so pumped on his own testosterone that he thinks he’s a pheromone foghorn issuing forth the miasma of l-u-r-v-e.
Even at eight years old Master A is aware of his own smell. After doing any form of sport, he always sniffs his armpits and, if needed, has a squirt of his favourite aftershave, Polo Big Pony No 3.
He knows that BO is always an NO. As the most diplomatic of the team I’ve been tasked with raising the subject, bringing the issue to his attention.
I’m not quite sure how I’m going to approach it – maybe a Ted Baker pumice gift set?
However, I’m thinking the sight of me swooning coquettishly, delicate hand clasped to excited heart, while wearing a gas mask may be a bit of a clue.